Anger isn't always a Bad Thing
by Emerald Embers
Summary: Vincent muses and comes to a new understanding.


Anger isn't always a Bad Thing  
by Emerald Embers  
Louise_cmi_vc@hotmail.com  
Rated G.  
I felt it was about time that Vincent stopped being depressed for once, so I based his feelings on my own experience in this. Inner monologue can be a wonderful thing. Oh, and it's my first FFVII fic. Please review.  
  
[Vincent]  
  
Lucrecia. Her very name still hurts me, even after all these years. And only after Hojo had destroyed her life did I speak out against him because of his experiments on living people. Little did I know I would soon be shot and made into one of those experiments.  
  
I should have known that Lucrecia would choose Hojo over me. I knew her well enough to realise that ambition was the driving force behind all her decisions, and it was foolish of me to hope she would love me. I knew it was foolish at the time, but my love for her made me blind myself to the truth.  
  
Of course she would choose Hojo. The man who made my left arm into little more than an implement I could use as a shield. Who needed a chair or table to hide behind if I just put my arm in the way of the attacking weapon? The gold-coloured 'flesh' no longer held feeling, but the others all got sympathy pains whenever they looked at dents or scratches from the bullets, bites, and cuts that the arm had suffered. It was the only useful thing Hojo did for me, even if I did sometimes wonder what it would be like to have a normal arm again.  
  
After living through the experiments and realising Hojo had given me near-immortality, I had hoped that resting in the coffin would be all I ever had to do again. After all, why would someone open a coffin? But, as with so many things in my life, I was wrong. I was refused even sleep, a spiky-haired blond opening the lid, and waking me to ask about Sephiroth. The child that had been the destruction of my beautiful Lucrecia, and the damnable triumph of Hojo.  
  
I joined the group that called itself 'AVALANCHE' in the hope that I might be able to do something to atone for my sins, or at least die in the process. Death would be a release to me, but suicide is too cowardly an end for even I. I soon found out about Sephiroth's doings from the youth who had woken me, who went by the name of Cloud. Inwardly I screamed at myself. I had allowed Lucrecia to spawn this child, a child who turned into nothing more than a scientific experiment, a creation.  
  
Sephiroth was as beautiful as she had been, with a sculptured bone structure similar to hers, along with large glowing blue-green eyes - the result of mako exposure, Cloud assured me. Neat little mouth and nose, with long, healthy, silver hair. Though I saw him a few times with the group, I only got a proper chance to see him when he killed the woman who called herself a 'Cetra', Aeris Gainsborough. Typical that someone had to die before my curiosity was satisified.  
  
I could see why he had been so popular before he 'flipped his lid', turning reckless in his desire to become 'one with the planet'. Even though he killed the young girl - a tragedy to many of the others - I still found part of me admiring him for the almost balletic grace and skill with which he commanded his weapon, the speed of his descent and the clean stab with which he killed the ancient. He was a creation of beauty, a living dance - but he was already dead for what he had done. The legend dooming him to be executed was one of burning villagers, of murder and destruction. He was, in effect, death personified; swift, fatal, breath-taking, and morbidly beautiful. And I was partly responsible for his creation. Maybe, if I had spoken up sooner, to more people... maybe he wouldn't have existed.  
  
Cloud later found some newspaper articles for me with Sephiroth in them on my request, pictures of him both before and after the 'madness'. I could easily spend hours admiring his eyes; a mysterious pain in them at first, slowly changing into grim determination. He was not insane - he was misguided. And whatever had tricked him into thinking he was doing the right thing was going to lead him to his death. As I looked upon the pictures, I slowly began to feel a change inside myself. I was responsible for this child's existence, yes. I was responsible for what happened to Lucrecia. But I was *not* responsible for what had happened to Sephiroth.  
  
After lingering on this thought for a while, my anger only grew, and I eventually stormed out of my room and found Barrett, asked,  
"Whatever happens with Sephiroth, are we going after Shinra?" Barrett looked up from the game of chess he was losing with Nanaki.  
"Yeah, that's why AVALANCHE started in the first place." I nodded, smiled behind the material covering most of the lower half of my face.  
"Then I'm staying with you guys. Whatever the outcome." Barrett shrugged and returned to the game, while Nanaki said kindly,  
"It's good to know you're with us." I returned to my room and found my gun, cleaned it carefully until I could see my faded initials engraved into it from when I had first bought the weapon. Yes, I *was* Vincent. Not one of the monsters that had set up home inside my body. I was Vincent Valentine, an ex-turk.  
  
And I was angry.  
  
THE END 


End file.
